Consonance
by Aqua Lion
Summary: Pidge might still be a little conflicted. Larmina, not so much, and that's putting it mildly. And Allura may not know exactly what's going on, but she's not amused. Harmonics part 3.


**Consonance**

_Because there might be some loose ends to wrap up. And by 'some loose ends' I mean 'oh hi, Allura, please don't kill me.'  
><em>_Actually this probably won't make her feel much better. Things got quite a bit weirder.  
><em>_Sequel to Resonance._

* * *

><p>I feel like Pidge never <em>expects<em> to find himself sitting half-clothed on my bed. It just sort of happens. Sometimes. Often.

Like now.

He loves my lip gloss. It's kind of comical, really. And I can't resist teasing him, because it never fails to get me what I want as well... waking that demon inside of him that he's still hesitant to unleash. A little too hesitant, usually.

I press my lips to his chest, not really a kiss, just enough to leave a smear of raspberry balm behind. Close enough for him to smell, too close to taste. A challenge he can't resist.

"Smells so pretty, doesn't it?"

"That's cruel," he whines. Almost pleading.

Isn't it, though? "There's more where that came from. Just come and get it."

When he snaps, he snaps hard, and suddenly he's smirking with anticipation. "If you insist." It's like flipping a switch... where he shifts from vulnerable to deadly in a moment, eyes hardening and practically glowing with intensity.

I love his eyes. So sharply slanted, almost feline, gleaming a laserlike green. They're a predator's eyes. And I want them to look only at me.

What draws the attention of the predator? His prey. And he'd be so disappointed if he took his prey too easily.

He brings me down in a pounce too quick to follow. Sometimes I think he's bent on proving he really is a ninja. The floor hits me, knocks the air from my lungs, and before I can even think about starting to catch my breath his hands sink into my shoulders like talons. He's so much stronger than he looks.

I know that, in my mind. Knew it before he ever touched me. But every time he proves it again, my heart tries to beat its way right out of my chest.

His lips crush against mine, hungrily claiming his prize. I go through more lip gloss these days... not that I'm complaining. I know he can feel my pulse pounding, and I can feel his doing the same. We've gone through this dance so many times before.

The pressure lifts quickly, too quickly, and suddenly he's gazing down at me with eyes that are coldly feral. He bares his teeth, running his tongue lazily over them, knowing how crazy that makes me when I see them glinting so sharp in the light. How much I want to feel that sharpness on my skin.

Still he's watching. Waiting. Wondering why it was so easy... disappointed, like I said.

But he knows why.

He leans down again, slowly, until his nose is nearly touching mine. His grip becomes more gentle... releasing me. Sure, he's still sitting on my chest, but we both know that isn't much of a deterrent. Not unless I want it to be.

Still he knows.

I want to hear his voice, ragged from passion, wavering with his heartbeat. I want to hear him say my name when nothing else is in his mind.

He runs his hands over my shoulders, tracing his fingertips up my neck, taking my head in his hands and lacing his fingers through my hair. His eyes are twin fragments of merciless emerald, and his breath is scorching against my skin. "Larmina." Menace. Pure menace, and right now, it's more beautiful than the music that brought us here.

I smile. He always finds it so maddening when I smile at moments like this. "Pidge?"

His knees dig into my ribcage, and his voice drops to a savage whisper. "Fight me!"

Impatient. I never knew he could be so impatient. Not after all the lectures he's given me on the subject... but this is a whole different animal, isn't it? Here _he_ is a whole different animal. And I would never refuse that soul-rattling snarl of command.

"I thought you'd never ask."

We leave the room some time later. I was feeling generous today, so I gave him his shirt back without a struggle... sometimes it's not that easy. Sometimes I hold out on that, too. He can have it when he draws blood.

If anyone asks why we look so roughed up, we just say we were sparring.

* * *

><p><em>Where, exactly, have you two been sparring? The sim room is shut down.<em>

_Allura, we need to talk._

_Take it to Keith, Lance. I'm busy._

_No. You. Now._

_...Fine. You two go get cleaned up. This had better be important, Lance._

_Very important. Leave 'em alone._

_Excuse me?_

_I said, leave. Them. Alone._

_You... exactly how much have you known about this for how long?_

_I don't have to answer that._

_Oh yes you do._

* * *

><p>We don't write music together. Not like Hunk, who's always willing to jam out on a moment's notice, but I know it's nothing personal.<p>

Stereolactic works alone. That's all.

He's let me watch, and I know that's more than anyone else has ever been given. It's amazing to see him at work... you'd think there would be such a difference, going from warrior to artist. But there's not. He whirls over the room, eyes sharp and fierce, fingers lightly brushing across one dial, slamming another switch so hard it nearly breaks.

I could watch him forever.

The way he moves. God, it's so mesmerizing. Every inch of his body is flowing sinew, tougher than steel... I know so well how powerful he is when he wants to be. But it isn't so overt as the others. He's a lithe shadow to their rippling muscle, the graceful whisper that makes the harmony complete.

Poetry in motion. It's not just an expression. It's so much more.

Sometimes it seems like the song isn't even coming from the instruments. He throws himself into that creative frenzy, and everything just pours out from his soul. No agonizing over the notes or the tempo or the rhythm. He dances and the music follows.

Honestly? It looks exhausting. I asked him about it, once, when he pushed himself too far and collapsed into my arms from the exertion.

"How can you keep this up? Where's it all even coming from?"

I remember him staring into the distance. His eyes were on mine, sure, but his focus was somewhere far away. "I'm the Green Lion, Larmina... how can I _not_ try to grasp the windsong?"

In moments like that I realize I can't possibly understand him. Not completely. And I haven't even come close yet. There are places I haven't even touched, and sometimes I swear he's challenging me to find my way through it. To follow him into those infinite depths, if I really want to know everything.

Of course I want to know everything. I want to peel away every layer, every barrier, and be consumed by that blazing star at his core.

I don't know if I can make it... but nothing will stop me from trying.

* * *

><p><em>Pidge has been talking to me.<em>

_And?_

_Oh come on. I'm not just spilling the juicy details to anyone who asks._

_Damn it, Lance. Larmina is my niece!_

_And what about Pidge? He's not worthy of her?_

_...I never said that._

_You didn't have to._

_I didn't mean it like that at all, and you know it!_

_Promise me you'll leave them alone, Allura. Then I'll talk._

_I... fine. I promise. I just need to know..._

_Well, you've already figured out they're in love. What more do you really need?_

* * *

><p>Of course I know why he tried to avoid me.<p>

No point in lying. It _was_ DJ Prong that got my attention. But not that shrouded figure who hides from the galaxy. No... it was always the music. The name, the face, none of that mattered. Only the music and the person who could make that music.

Pidge...

It took Stereolactic to show me the truth. Not because it changed who he was. Only because it forced me to see.

You're just _you_, I told him, as if I had any idea what that meant.

He has so many masks. I don't know which of them is the real him, and sometimes I'm not sure he does either. But that's not the question, is it? They're all real. And they weave together into something amazing, something much greater than whatever facet I might be focusing on, whichever mask he might choose to show the world at any moment.

Maybe the musician was the mask I fell in love with. But since then I've come to know and love so many more... and awakened one. That passionate demon with such haunting, predatory eyes.

The first kiss was all me. Why? Because it seemed like a good idea. Obviously.

He was so shy. So nervous. I knew what he was thinking, that I only liked his secret identity. I wanted to prove him wrong. There was something about him that I couldn't place, something that made me want him to be mine and mine alone. It wasn't just the music.

Did I see it coming? Not consciously. But maybe.

What happened to him then... I can't really explain it, though I still see it clear as day in my mind. He _changed_. He looked at me, eyes alight, as if he'd never been touched that way before and was just realizing what he'd missed.

Not too far off. I'd learn that later. What I saw at the time was all I could be sure of; a frenzy that forged itself into a new mask in moments.

And then he kissed me.

I don't even know if 'kissed' is the right word. More like 'overwhelmed'. It was incredible... I'm not used to being on that side of the battle. My lips burned from the pressure, and it surged through me like wildfire, trickling down to somewhere just below my stomach and twisting into a knot of elation. Beyond description. And we remained there, locked together, unstoppable force and immovable object, as if we would never let go.

But we had to let go. Soon, too soon.

He looked shocked at his own strength. Oh, don't get me wrong. I was shocked too. But it was a good shock, the kind of shock you get when something you expected to be somewhat pleasant turns out to be outright incredible.

_Exactly_ that kind of shock, actually.

From the moment we separated, I only knew I wanted to feel that again. So I asked. Demanded, more like it.

What? I'm used to getting what I want.

He gave it to me.

It blurs together, no matter how hard I try to sort it out. A moment that lasted forever, but couldn't last long enough. A moment that tasted like blood and felt like perfection. A moment where I clawed at him viciously just to see what he would do.

When he arched his back into my hands, I knew without a doubt he understood... but he wouldn't look at me again after that.

Wouldn't even let me tell him how amazing it had been.

None of that was DJ Prong. It was Pidge, all Pidge, and I knew he couldn't run from me forever. I didn't know if he could deny his own mask. But getting away from me? Not so easy.

Except for that part where he's a ninja.

He was so much harder to pin down than I thought. But I could see it, every time he had to get near me, and that happened often enough—in public—because we still had work to do. No matter what his music said, his actions told a totally different story. He was tearing himself apart, and I wanted to just grab him and shake him and scream for him to get out of the denial, right there in front of everyone, because I couldn't stand it.

Couldn't stand to see him in _that_ kind of pain.

I think it's better that he came to terms with it on his own. That he dodged me until he couldn't take it anymore. This way _he_ doesn't have any more doubts.

This way there's no chance he'll try to slip away ever again.

* * *

><p><em>Larmina can be perfect, or she can be happy. You know she can't be both.<em>

_Who said anything about expecting her to be perfect?_

_The part about her not being allowed to have a boyfriend, that's a clue._

_I just want to protect her._

_And you accepted that sort of thing when you were her age._

_I..._

_Allura, I was here when you were insisting on flying Blue Lion._

_Lance..._

_I was right here. Training you to fly. I saw everything. Remember?_

_That's completely different!_

_Sure. One's true love, one's mortal peril. Which one's more dangerous?_

_...When you put it that way, maybe it isn't so different._

* * *

><p>He can be so sweet. Act so sweet, I mean.<p>

Though he _can_ taste that way too.

Our battles are one thing. The wars of the Voltron Force are another. That war can be tiring... I don't want to admit that even I have to rest once in awhile. But I do. He knows it without asking. It's hard to believe, when he wraps his arms around me and strokes my hair with soothing whispers, that he's the same person who's nearly ripped that hair out on several occasions.

I fell asleep in his room once. You'd think I would regret that, knowing what I was there for. How fierce it must have been to exhaust me to that point. But there's nothing to fear from him. Even though I know he's afraid of himself... of going too far.

It's so strange, when we're tearing into each other with eyes blazing, to remember that he would give anything to protect me. To remember waking with that emerald gaze locked on me with such concern.

Begging me to tell him that I was alright...

I know there's still a part of him that can't believe what he's doing. That can't accept the way he acts, the way he loves. I can understand that. So I'm there for him, however he needs me. Whether it's prodding him into indulging those desires, or just whispering to him in the dark.

What about me? I don't know. It's always been there, this sense that I have to fight, that I _live_ to fight. That it gives me more than just meaning. Combat was a drug, something to quench my endless thirst for pain and the adrenaline that comes with it. And if I got too good at it... if nobody could ever hit me back... well, I just had to fight more.

So that's what I've always done.

I'm comfortable with who I am, but I never believed I would find someone else. Especially not _this_ someone. And I can't imagine losing him... I love him too much and I need him too badly. I'm not just in this for his body.

Oh, don't get me wrong. His body's definitely nice—really nice—but I want his heart. He owns mine, even if he can't believe it. Still so nervous, like one wrong move could drive me away. No chance.

No chance!

I'm nervous, too, so I try to move slowly. To be sure I don't scare him off. I don't ever want to go through that hell of avoidance again.

...Yes, I said we've been taking things slow.

It's true. We don't actually have sex. We don't _need_ sex. It's enough to fight, to feel each other out, learn every inch of each others' bodies and find those places where pain and pleasure become one. I'm satisfied with that, for the moment.

He... says he's not ready.

I can wait. Sometimes I _can_ be patient.

Might be just as well. If this is us taking it slow, can you imagine the sex? We'd rip each other limb from limb before it was over. That would be a little inconvenient for the whole saving the universe thing... though it would also be all kinds of fun. Someday.

* * *

><p><em>And when Larmina gets pregnant? You understand the complications.<em>

_They're actually not going that far._

_Then what in the world are they doing when they're 'sparring'?_

_Exactly that._

_Lance, I already promised. Answer me._

_I'm serious, they're sparring. Quite intensely. That's what turns them on._

_Sadomasochism._

_Huh. Definitely didn't expect you to know that word._

_Oh, shut up. I can't bring myself to be surprised about Larmina. But Pidge?_

_Oddly enough, he was pretty distressed about that himself._

_Is he... okay now?_

_Heh, now that's more like it, Allura. And yeah. He's figuring it out._

* * *

><p>He's alone in the control room, fingers dancing over the holographic panels. I hate it when he's alone... it really makes me want to tackle him and see how fast he can hit back.<p>

Not here. Not now. Absolutely not.

It's so much easier if we keep everything to ourselves for now. And that's what worries me, why I'm really seeking him out. "Pidge?"

"Hey, Larmina." He's so _casual_. Turning to me with a faint grin, a curious spark in his eyes, the very same expression he'd give to anyone else who walked in on him while he's working. This is the mask that can't be rattled, the mask of cool logic that fights for duty rather than love. "What's up?"

"Can we talk?"

A flicker. "I'm kind of busy..."

"No, really just talk."

"Oh." He pushes the screen he's been working on away, sending the image scything through the air until it flashes out of existence. Casual. Graceful. Gorgeous. "Yeah, sure."

We find an empty conference room. This is still no place to get into anything... besides, I promised I only wanted to talk. But it's so hard to resist. Especially when he hops up and sits on the table, draping one arm across his knee and letting the muscles there flex, just slightly.

How can I not stare? He's a masterpiece. And he's mine.

It takes me a moment to snap out of it, and he's looking concerned already. "Larmina?"

"Sorry..." I'm not sitting. "You're beautiful, you know that?"

Baltans don't blush. He's claimed to be happy about that pretty often. "You, uh... may have mentioned it once or twice before."

Once or twice. Every day. I never want him to forget it.

Anyway, better get down to business. "Pidge, did you talk to my aunt?"

"Are you kidding? I enjoy living." The slightest smirk crosses his face. "And mostly I enjoy not being injured. Surely you don't want her moving in on your territory?"

...Wow. I don't believe he just said that.

"Don't make me remind you how _mine_ you are in the middle of this conference room, Pidge. You make jokes like that, I'll do it."

His gaze goes feral for a moment, and I can see the tip of his tongue flick over his teeth. "If only I could take you up on that..." Then it's gone, and part of me has to wonder if I imagined it. We don't really flirt... I wonder if it's a sign he's becoming more comfortable with himself. With us. But it's gone now, in any case. "Why do you ask?"

"She never followed up on that total ambush she pulled a few days ago." That ambush that scared me to death, no lie. Aunt Allura misses _nothing_. I can practically feel her eyes on me even while I'm speaking. Searching. Scolding, even. Maybe I should be happy she cares, but seriously. Somehow when she stares at me I always feel like I've done something wrong.

Okay, so usually it's because I _have_. Still!

"Oh, that." He looks uncomfortable. He's adorable when he's uncomfortable. "Yeah, uh. I keep meaning to see how that went."

I have no idea what he's talking about. Which is not unusual. This is Pidge, after all, and _nobody_ understands him half the time. And that's in English. Oh, we could talk about Baltan. It's a gorgeous language, and I've only ever heard him speak it when I'm scraping my nails over his thighs...

Focus, Larmina. Right. Aunt Allura might be on the verge of murdering us both, and I'm worrying about linguistics. "How what went?"

"Umm..." He won't look at me now. "I kind of went looking for advice. When I wasn't talking to you, I mean. So Lance... uh... might know about us."

Suddenly it all falls together. Why Pidge always seems a little edgy when we talk about keeping this a secret. Why my aunt hasn't harassed us since Lance cut her off. Why my combat instructor doesn't seem concerned when I take a strong blow and jump right back up for more...

Oh.

Well that's kind of awkward.

"How much about us, exactly?"

"Enough."

"And...?"

"He thinks we're cute."

...He _would_.

You know? I can't make myself worry about it. If that's what it takes to keep my aunt off our case, then that's great. More than great. And if Pidge is comfortable with it, so am I.

"Tell him thanks for the intercept, would you? And go get back to work."

"Good call." He slides off the table and kisses me. Lightly. Not lightly enough to skip licking my lip gloss off... and there's no way I can retaliate here.

"That's not fair!"

"Very true." He gives that soft, cool laugh that always sends a shiver through me. A laugh that usually means he's drawn blood. And I suppose, in a way, he has. "I'm looking forward to paying for it later."

Oh, you'll pay, Pidge. You'll pay dearly.

And you _will_ enjoy every moment of it. I'll make sure of that.


End file.
